


Escape the Day

by miraellie



Series: Discrete Saga [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraellie/pseuds/miraellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Discrete. Loki has been imprisoned once again, and Sigyn has been banished with her two twin sons. But the blood magic that binds them will not be so easily defeated, and the love they hold for each other will not make them give up until they're reunited once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. broken dreams

_these are hard times_  
 _these are hard times for dreamers_  
 _and love lost believers_  
\--MS MR, "Bones"

* * *

   “Nothing else matters but us,” Loki whispers into her hair one night, holding her close. In the quiet darkness of his prison cell, she allows herself to believe him, that they’re the only two people left in the entire Nine, and that they are all that matters.  
     
    It becomes more true when she’s imprisoned herself, in a quaint little cottage far out past the mountains and wheat fields of Asgard. _Nothing else matters but us,_ Sigyn thinks as she holds her infant sons. Nothing else but them, and the sons Loki does not know yet.  
     
    She had been stupid to trust Frigga, she sees that now. She knew what they had done to Loki, and yet she still thought that when they went to the Queen for help, she would give it. Family was family, even when not bound together by blood, was it not?  
     
    She should have been smarter. Their options had been limited, true, but she still should have thought of something. But it had been a valuable lesson as well. Sigyn knew now not to trust the Allfather’s family for anything.  
     
    _I was stupid before,_ Sigyn thinks as she kisses Narvi’s head, then Vali’s. The piece of Loki’s soul that had entered hers during their wedding throbs slightly just behind her heart, an ice cold orb in the midst of her warm magic. _I will not make that same mistake again. Never again._     

* * *

    Her plan begins simply. She must leave the cottage and escape from the control of the royal family. Then she must find a way to get their magic canceling handcuffs off her wrists, so that she can use her magic freely.  
     
    And then she must return to the city and find a way to rescue Loki.  
     
    It’s simple, in theory. The execution of it is what makes Sigyn falter. She must plan everything carefully. She will have to bring the twins with her; her beautiful boys, who do not yet know how to walk and still feed from the breast. After pondering it for a while, she brings out an old apron and, with a day of stitching and sewing, creates a sling strong enough to carry them on her chest, leaving her arms free.  
     
    Next comes the problem of food and water. She has a flagon already, but the trouble will be finding fresh water rivers to refill it. Sigyn considers her path. She’ll have to follow the ocean. Asgard was circular, more or less; if she followed the ocean, she would eventually come upon the city. But it would be a long way by foot, and that way would not afford her many chances of finding the rivers that led out into the ocean.  
     
    Still, she would have to try somehow.  
     
    She makes certain her boots are up to the task of walking, redoing the soles and patching up the weaker spots. She packs her one other dress and underthings in a knapsack, as well as some clothes for the twins and fresh diapers. She finds a fallen log in the forest surrounding her cottage and carves it into a walking stick and, if need be, a weapon against wolves or unsavory sorts on the road.  
     
    And she plots. There is a way to free herself from these chains. She knows it. But it is a plan that terrifies her, and it is a plan that may not work. In fact, there is a high chance of her failing in this quest.  
     
    But for Loki, for her sons, for their happiness, Sigyn will do anything.    

* * *

    The guard comes on the same day he always does, four weeks after his last visit. She waits by the door, ever watchful of him and where his hands are, how close they get to his weapons, as he unloads the cart full of food for the next month.  
     
    Her boys are inside. She does not allow the man in. He knows of her, she can see it in his brief glances at her, the disdain and presumption that he’s better simply because she’s an unmarried woman with children, banished from the city. But she is not certain he knows of the blue of her boys’ skin, or the red of their eyes, and she will not risk their safety to find out if the man would raise a sword against innocent babies.  
     
    Sigyn studies him carefully as he works. He’s one of the lower ranks of soldiers, and from his harried movements and his careful glances over their surroundings, Sigyn knows that Asgard is still at war with the Dark Elves. Or whatever else has turned up since the Bifrost was destroyed and Asgard left isolated from the rest of the Nine.  
     
    She intends to use that to her advantage. If Asgard is still at war, then Odin and Heimdall are not watching her, or so she fervently hopes. If they are, then her plan will fail before she can even leave the forest. But if not, well, she will be free to wander as she so chooses, and return to Asgard unnoticed by anyone who matters.  
     
    He says nothing to her after unloading the last of the food. She says nothing as well. She merely watches as he gets back on his horse and turns around, going back the way he came.  
     
    Once he’s well out of sight, Sigyn immediately begins rifling through the food to see what she can take with her. Most of it is already preserved, needing to last the long trek to her home. Figuring out how to pack everything is a challenge. She can’t carry two heavy bags full of food and two children by herself. If she had a horse, it would be a different story, but the Queen had not seen it fit to gift her with one during her stay at the cottage.  
     
    Eventually, Sigyn decides that she has no choice and must carry as much food as possible, as well as her children. If she runs out, she’ll simply have to hope that she can hunt well enough to catch game in the wild during her travels.  
     
    “Soon, my loves,” she whispers to her children, who squirm and gurgle at her voice, staring at her with wide red eyes. “Soon.”    

* * *

    At night, she dreams of him.  
     
    She dreams of his comforting weight beside her on the bed, his skin smooth and cool underneath her hands. She dreams of his green eyes, faint in the candle light, roaming over her bare body as his fingers trace patterns between the freckles on her skin. She dreams of him kissing her, running his hand through her long hair, claiming her as his, all his. She dreams of the cuts on their left palms splitting open, their blood running free and smearing as their hands caress each other in their passion, marking each other, declaring their territory, making it plain for all to see that they belong together, to each other, to themselves and no one else.  
     
    She wakes feeling frustrated, overly warm, and heartbreakingly alone.  
     
    Sigyn rises from her bed and goes over to the crib her boys share, watching as they sleep peacefully. Completely unaware of their father, of their lives, of how they could have grown up in Gladsheim as royal princes of the Nine Realms, had things been different.  
     
    She is not stupid, she knows she is not stupid, despite what her Mother often yelled at her. Sigyn knows that the royal family must be somewhat uneasy about her children. They are threats to the throne. They are the next legitimate heirs after Thor. If Thor were to die, then they would be the next ones to take the throne, which would give Loki power over Asgard.  
     
    Sigyn knows this. She knows that was why the Allfather and the Allmother had seen it fit to banish her and her children. Why they refused to recognize their marriage as legal and binding. Her sons could be written off as bastards, unable to take the throne and therefore give the genocidal tyrant power over the Realm Eternal once again.  
     
    She doesn’t want power. She has no use for it, as she told Loki so long ago. She does not want the throne of Asgard or Frigga’s crown. She does not want her sons thrust into that power, either. Frankly, Sigyn does not want them anywhere near the city or the Aesir if it can be helped. She fears what the Aesir would do to her sons, especially if they became rulers.  
     
    All she wants, quite simply, is for her family to be united once again. For Loki to sleep next to her at night, to smile at her in the morning, for her boys to know their father.  
     
    Is it not too much to ask, in her opinion.    

* * *

    The morning after the guard arrives with her food, Sigyn rises before the sun and sets to her work. She doublechecks and then triplechecks her bags before closing them tightly. She wishes she had a charm to put around the openings to dissuade animals from rummaging through them, but there’s nothing to be done for it, so she must simply prepare to keep an extra careful eye on her belongings.  
     
    She makes certain she has a few potions with her, as well as some other medicine and bandages if need be. Since she cannot access her magic, she cannot heal herself, which makes her highly uncomfortable. She’s had her magic all her life--the fact that she now cannot even touch it throws her world out of order, makes her realize just how much she’s relied on it all these centuries. _Soon,_ she swears, _soon I will have it back._  
     
    Once she slips on the packs, wincing at their combined weight on her shoulders, she puts her beautiful boys into their sling and sets it carefully onto her shoulders and chest. They whine at being woken up, but then find comfort in the tight, warm space right next to her heart, her lungs. Sigyn gently rocks them back to sleep, and then takes up her walking stick and casts one last glance over the cottage.  
     
    She will not miss it at all, she decides.  
     
    With that, Sigyn opens her door and breathes in the cool, early morning air. And then she sets out to save her husband.


	2. monsters

_Once, a girl was born to a common seamstress and a low ranking Einherji. They are not noble born; they do not feast every night with the other nobles and royals in Gladsheim. The girl does not wear fine silks and have a servant to help her with her hair each night, nor does she go to feasts and gatherings at other halls, stay up far into the night and sleep until late in the day. (And when she does, it’s when she’s older and because she stayed up all night reading a book, not dancing with fine men and laughing with the other ladies on the sidelines of a dancefloor.)_  
  
 _The Asgard she knows, the Asgard Sigyn Iwaldadottir grows up with, is tight corridors filled to the brim with people animals and shopkeepers yelling their about wares into the air. It’s the scent of herbs and plants from the outlying fields and gardens to the East, being sold by the farmers not lucky enough to be patroned by the royals or nobility. It’s smaller living places, not quite as grand as the royalty closer to Gladsheim, nor the great halls lining the edge of Asgard by its ocean. They sit squarely in the middle of both._  
  
 _Her Asgard is a bustle of noise and busyness and working day in and day out. She is, quite simply, a peasant, and she is content with that._  
  
 _Her mother is not._  
  
 _“One day, Sigyn,” her mother says as she pulls a brush through her daughter’s black, curly hair, “one day you will marry a great lord, or a warrior, or even the Prince. And then we can regain our lands, our titles. All our hopes lie with you, child.”_  
  
 _Sigyn stays silent during these moments, eyes smarting at the pain her mother’s brushing causes, and does not say that she is fine where she is. Asgard treats their lower classes better than some other Realms, and if she is honest, even if she wants to attend feasts and wear beautiful dresses and jewels, she feels a little below all that._  
  
 _As her mother is fond of saying as the centuries pass and Sigyn does not advance in life, she feels she does not really deserve them._

* * *

    Sigyn wakes with a start. Every muscle in her body tenses as suddenly she’s alert, eyes roaming the dark forest around her to find what has awoken her, what has set off this feeling of something being not quite right. Her twins sleep peacefully in their sling against her chest, making no noise, so she knows it was not them that woke her.  
      
    Which leaves the question of what did.  
      
    She takes up her walking stick and wishes she could light a fire with her magic to illuminate the darkness. The small fire she’d made for herself when she set up camp has long since gone out, leaving only a few burning embers left. Her heart beats so hard she can hear it in her ears and she wishes she couldn’t, wishes she could calm it down so that she might hear a rustle in the bushes or a growl of a wolf, something, something that will let her know what’s stalking her just now.  
      
    She casts a quick glance over to her bag of food, the last few bits she has left. She’s been walking for so long now, and the food has not lasted as long as she’d hoped it would. And Sigyn knows she’s barely over halfway through with her journey.  
      
    A rustling catches her attention and she tenses again, an arm settling over her babies protectively. The bush to her side rustles again, then she’s vaguely aware of something moving in between two bushes to come into the clearing where she’s been resting, and--  
      
    Sigyn jumps as the goat bleats loudly at her, then lets her shoulders drop in utter relief. She leans against the tree she’s been sitting by and closes her eyes, trying to calm her pounding heart.  
      
    “That was not kind of you,” she says to the goat sternly, who only blinks back at her. It comes over and she realizes it’s a domesticated goat, not like the ones found roaming the mountains that would sooner push you off a cliff than nuzzle your hand for food. Sigyn also realizes a second later that the goat is a female and it’s pregnant.   
      
    Instantly her hands twitch and she wishes she had a pail with her so she could milk the goat. Goat’s milk would be a welcome treat. Still, she has no such supplies to do that, so Sigyn simply pets her. “Are you far from home, sweet mother?” Sigyn asks, feeling burrs and a good layer of dirt in her coat. “You shouldn’t have left. You’re close to giving birth to your baby, and this forest is no such place for a kid or a doe such as yourself.”  
      
    The goat merely bleats at her again before eating more grass. Sigyn sighs, watching as the sun slowly rises and begins streaming through the trees. Her boys soon wake up and cry to be fed, so she slips off her cloak and the top of her dress, holding them to her breasts. Once they’re finished she gets them out of their sling and changes their clothes, letting them wave their hands and legs to stretch out before placing them back.  
      
    The goat seems content to provide Sigyn company, so she doesn’t shoo the animal away. In truth, she likes having something other than herself and her children to talk to, even if the goat can only bleat back and chew at her cloak. It gives her the illusion of not being so alone. Even if she is.   
      
    “You know,” she says after she’s done with her breakfast, preparing for yet another day of walking, “I wouldn’t have minded living in that cottage they banished me to, if I had some animals of my own. A nice goat like you, maybe a cow. Some dogs and cats. I could have set up my own little farm. I like gardening; I had a garden back in the city where I grew all my own herbs. I used them in my healing and then sold my products in the marketplace by my house.”  
      
    Sigyn stops, tilting her head to the side as she considers the idea. Then she shrugs. “But they didn’t give me a very big house, and they took my husband from me. I require a house that’s big enough to hold all my books, and my husband to help me occupy it.” She looks back to the goat. “It’s still an idea worth thinking about, though, isn’t it?”  
      
    “Gylla!”  
      
    Sigyn jumps up to her feet at the sound of a man’s voice, her stick back in her hand, her twins protesting at the sudden, harsh movement. The goat’s ears flick, then she turns and begins walking towards the sound of the voice. Sigyn swallows thickly as the man yells again, and she can see an old man wandering through the forest not too far from her. She quickly puts the pieces together; obviously the goat belongs to this man, who is a farmer, and now the goat will be able to go back home in time to have her kid.  
      
    Sigyn glances down at her twins, then to the bag that holds the remains of her food. She glances back up to the man as he’s reunited with the goat--Gylla--and her hands tremble. Is it worth the risk? If he’s a farmer, he would have food. He would have water.   
      
    But he would also have weapons strong enough to kill Jotuns.  
      
    _You can protect them,_ she thinks. _You can outrun him, old as he is. You need food. You won’t make it to Loki if you don’t find more food now._  
      
    Shaking, Sigyn takes a step forward, then another, and another, until she breaks through the clearing and finds herself upon the old farmer and his goat. The man blinks, then stumbles back a little in surprise before cracking a smile and laughing. She decides she likes his smile immediately; it’s heavily lined around the mouth and his eyes, as if he smiles often. It’s a kindly look.  
      
    _Please be kindly to me and my children,_ she thinks desperately. _Please. Spare me some kindness and give me some hope._  
      
    “I didn’t think there was anyone else here,” he says, petting Gylla fondly as he stares at Sigyn. “Especially not a young one like you, and...” His eyes stray to the sling and then back up. He hasn’t seen her twins yet, but he knows she’s carrying children. “What in the Nine are you doing out here, little lady?”  
      
    “I--I’m traveling,” Sigyn says, her voice cracking. She swallows hard and clears her throat. “I need to get to the city. I’m going to my family there. My horse is lame, so I’ve been reduced to walking these past... ten days.”  
      
    “Ah,” the farmer says with a knowing nod. “The forest is hard on horses sometimes.” He squints at her. “Why are you traveling alone?”  
      
    Sigyn glances down to the ground. “My husband is dead, sir,” she says. “’Tis only me and my children now. That’s why I must get to the city, so I may live with my family again until I’m able to regain my footing.”  
      
    He looks at her sympathetically, then pauses and squints harder. Unease trickles down her spine, but then he shakes his head. “Well, thank you for keeping Gylla company,” he says. “She’s always wandering off somehow. I thought I fixed the borders so she couldn’t escape anymore, but I suppose she’s proved me wrong on that count.”  
      
    “So she has,” Sigyn says. She shifts uncomfortably, then blurts out, “May I come with you? I--I’d hate to be an inconvenience, but I’m running out of food, and I need a place to rest that isn’t outside. I will be able to pay you, once I’m in the city.”  
      
    “No need to pay me, girl,” the farmer says. “I’d be happy to help.”    

* * *

     The farmer’s name is Breidr, and he tells Sigyn all about himself and his life as she sits in his house, eating a large breakfast. He still hasn’t seen the twins yet, as when she sat down, she set a thin cloth over them under the pretense of shielding them from the light so they could sleep. He simply nodded and bought her lie, then went about feeding her.  
      
    “... So then Fasta died, and now it’s just been me these last few decades. Our sons are all grown and left a while ago, to start their own farms or become Einherji.”  
      
    Sigyn swallows her large bite of food and inclines her head respectfully. “I’m sorry for that, sir.”  
      
    “Eh, it is what it is. They’re all successful with families of their own now. Maybe when I’m too old to handle this place by myself, I’ll go join them in the city.” He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze distant, then he focuses on her again and frowns. “What did you say your name was again?”  
      
    She pauses. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, that was horribly rude of me. I’m... Sigyn.”  
      
    Something clears in his expression and Breidr smiles broadly. “I thought you had a familiar look about you! Sigyn Iwaldadottir, isn’t it?” Before she can respond, he laughs. “I met you when you were just a small thing, barely up to my waist. You were one of Lady Eir’s apprentices.”  
      
    She shifts uncomfortably. She had been enjoying listening to this man talk, enjoyed being here in his home. It was separate from everything that existed in the city. Breidr barely even knew about the events during Thor’s coronation, or that Jotunheim was barely holding on to its existence as a Realm. He hadn’t known about Loki and what he tried to do.  
      
    It had been nice, pretending for a time that it didn’t exist. That it didn’t affect her in some way.   
      
    “I’m sorry, sir,” she says sincerely, “I don’t remember you, or your wife.”  
      
    Breidr shakes his head. “It’s been so long ago now, I didn’t think you would. You’ve grown up into a right pretty girl, m’lady. And your husband...” He grins and the sinking feeling returns to her stomach. “That one boy who always followed you around. What was his name? Tomas?”  
      
    “Theoric,” she answers quietly.  
      
    “Theoric, yes! Though I’m sorry to hear he’s dead now.”  
      
    Sigyn fingers the cloth of the sling, keeping her gaze down. “He died serving his King. It was an honourable death, sir, nothing to be sorry about.”  
      
    Breidr reaches over and pats her hand gently, knowingly. “It gets easier as time goes on. The pain will always be with you, and you’ll always find yourself looking to your side to smile at them only to realize they’re gone again. But it does get easier.”  
      
    _Does it?_ Sigyn wonders. _Does it truly? What if they aren’t dead, merely imprisoned and out of your reach seemingly forever? Does it get easier then?_ Loki’s soul throbs behind her heart and she knows that, perhaps for some people, it might get easier. But it will never get easier for her. She needs Loki like she needs air; he’s a vital part of her world, and without him, nothing is as it should be.   
      
    She can’t go on without him. She simply can’t.  
      
    “And your children? What are they called?”  
      
    “Vali and Narvi,” she says, putting an arm around them again. “Forgive me, I don’t want to wake them.”  
      
    Breidr nods with a kind smile. “I understand. Once you get them to sleep, you feel like you can’t breathe without risking waking them up again.”  
      
    She smiles and nods, then pauses and stands. “I should go,” she says. “Thank you so much for breakfast, and for filling my bags again. But truly, it’s time to keep going.”  
      
    “Wait,” Breidr says, standing with her. “Wait here.” He leaves and Sigyn resists the urge to sneak out while he’s away. When he returns, he simply motions for her to follow him, so she does. Outside is a beautiful brown mare with a saddle and bridle on, clearly ready for travel.  
      
    Sigyn stares at the horse, then at Breidr. “I couldn’t...”  
      
    “Nonsense,” he says, taking her bags from her. She shies away from him when his hands get too close to her children, but he doesn’t notice as he goes to put the bags on the horse. “It’ll still take you another week to get to the city, but she’ll get you there faster than you would on foot. The saddle sores might not beat blistered feet, but at least it’ll only be a few more days of pain instead of quite a lot more.”  
      
    She blinks back tears and lets him prepare the horse for her. “Thank you,” Sigyn says quietly, wondering if he knows he’s helping the wife of Loki, mother to half-blood sons. Would he be so kind and helpful if he knew what she was?   
      
    Sigyn decides not to find out. With some difficulty she climbs onto the horse, wondering if now is a bad time to mention that she’s never rode a horse before. Far be it from her to say no, though. Anything that gets her to Loki faster, the better.  
      
    “There,” Breidr says. “You’re all set.” He pauses, then says uneasily, “You’ll want to stay on the widest path through the forest, from my house. And avoid the East. There are things in that part of the forest that no woman and child should find.”  
      
    Sigyn stares at him for a long moment, then smiles easily. “Thank you for the warning, sir,” she says. “And for everything else. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”  
      
    “Repay me by getting home safe and sound,” Breidr says, then slaps the rump of the horse. “Farewell, m’lady.”  
      
    “Farewell.” She rides on down the path, letting the horse keep her slow pace. Once she’s far enough away, she glances behind her to make certain Breidr can no longer see her. Then she pulls the reins to the right, breaking off from the path and heading to the East.  
      
    _I do not fear monsters,_ Sigyn thinks as the horse makes her way through the brush. _Why should I, when I am one myself?_


	3. the path we have chosen

    _Sigyn always knew she had magic. It had developed when she was a mere baby, glass breaking every time she sneezed, or her toys moving by themselves. Her parents could not hide it from her, or if they tried, not for long. They could not change how Sigyn saw the world, all pulsing with colours and energies and magic._  
  
 _It was a part of her, as sure as the stars were part of the sky, and it was a part neither of her parents could change. She secretly relished that, having something that her parents could not touch. It was all her own, unlike everything else, and she guarded it like a mother cat guards her newborn kittens, all claws and teeth._  
  
 _Her parents do not allow her to study magic, but when she sees the book just waiting for her amidst a small pile on a seller man’s cart, she cannot deny it. Its pull is too hard. It is dark green leather with golden spiral details and lettering on it, proclaiming itself a Book of Simple Spells and Magic. Its pages are old, but the edges still gleam faintly with gold. She is utterly in love with how it feels in her hands, light and smooth and full of possibility._  
  
 _“Here now, girl,” the man says, his face kindly, his smile warm. “I see you’ve taken a liking to that one.”_  
  
 _“How much is it?” she asks shyly, as she does everything. She is not a bold girl, and she knows this and is comfortable in her shyness._  
  
 _The man considers for a moment, studying her, and then says, “However much you’ve got, child.”_  
  
 _“What? No, I couldn’t--”_  
  
 _He raises a hand to stop her. “I won’t hear nothing of that sort, little miss. No one else has wanted it. You give me however much you’ve got, and we’ll call it a sale.”_  
  
 _She glances over her shoulder, though why she doesn’t know. Her parents are not around to say no; she has come to the market all by herself to buy herbs for the stew that night, and she needs the permission of no one. Still, a part of her fears that her parents will somehow sense that she’s doing something they will not approve of and it gives her pause._  
  
 _The pause does not last for very long. Sigyn digs into her tiny purse that she made all on her own and pulls out the few coins she has, counting them in her palm. It is not much. It wouldn’t even buy a small slice of fruit._  
  
 _But the man accepts it with a broad smile and she hugs him in her happiness. His laugh is a happy rumbling in her ear, and then he ruffles her hair and moves her along. She comes away from the cart, hugging the book against her chest tightly, knuckles white, as if she fears it will vanish from her grip if she loosens it even a little._  
  
 _She does not even tell Theoric of her new belonging. It is a secret meant just for her, something she decides to keep safe. Theoric plays too closely to the rules, obeys them too much; he would, without a doubt, tell her parents. And then they would take it away from her, and that can not happen._  
  
 _So when she returns home and hands the herbs to her mother, she immediately hides in her room, climbing onto the small wooden chair that sits by the window. She pulls a blanket up with her, though the day is warm and sunny, to hide the book in case her mother or father come in unexpectedly._  
  
 _And then, holding her breath, she opens the book._   

* * *

    _The years have changed me,_ Sigyn thinks as she wanders through the dark forest. _Or perhaps,_ she admits to herself, _the change has been more recent._ There was a time when she would have shrunk away from this part of the forest she travels through now, where the sun has trouble shining through the thick trees, leaving everything under them dark and cool. Things stalk her in the shadows and the horse’s ears flick back and forth, her breath huffing nervously through her nose.  
     
    Sigyn pays them no mind. She has long since learned that there are monsters even in the most glorious of places, wearing the nicest of faces, and so she no longer fears the ones that stay hidden. It seems that the things stalking her, whatever they may be, are disinterested in attacking a mother who has her children with her as they do not approach her. They merely follow, and Sigyn is fine with that.  
     
    _Perhaps they recognize their like when they see it,_ she thinks. Her mother used to call her a monster when she’d been too long at the drink. The very word used to cut deep into Sigyn’s heart and repeated itself in her mind when she cried herself to sleep.  
     
    Now Sigyn considers it an honour. If being a good person means being like the worst traitors in Asgard, she will happily be a monster, yes, and be married to one and mother to two herself.  
     
    Sigyn looks down at her twins while the horse walks on. They sleep peacefully, curled up together, little hands curled up near their mouths. Their fingers are still so tiny. After they were born, she used to spend hours simply marveling at their tiny little bodies and wishing Loki were there to marvel at them with her.  
     
    _Soon_ , Sigyn thinks. It’s become a familiar mantra, a reminder of why she’s going through this. _Soon, soon, soon you will know your father, my loves, and soon he will know you._  
     
    If this next part of the plan works, that is.  
     
    It’s getting near night time--or so she thinks, unable to check the sky as she is--when they come upon the cave. Somehow, Sigyn knows it’s the one she needs. The horse shies away from it and Sigyn resists the urge to do the same. There’s a malevolent feeling emanating from it, one that leaves her disquieted and wakes her twins up, causing them to whine and begin crying.  
     
    She takes a few minutes to calm them down, whispering to them how she’d never let anything hurt them, and then she swings down from the horse and ties her up on a tree near some grass. Then she takes up a long, thick stick from the ground and lights a fire on the end of it, hoping it’ll last long enough for her to find her way through the darkness.  
     
    And then, with a steadying breath, Sigyn steps foot into the cave. 

* * *

_Once, there was a terrible serpent with venom so poisonous that it could burn even the skin of an Asgardian. Many soldiers were sent to kill it, but it melted the metal of their weapons, ate the soldiers, and continued its existence in the darkest part of the woods. It never went into any cities, never attacked any Aesir except the ones that came to kill him in turn, and so people wondered why the Allfather did not choose to simply ignore it._  
  
 _The Allfather’s reasons, of course, were his own._  
  
 _Whatever they were, the Allfather rode out to meet the serpent himself. But he did not kill the serpent. Instead, using the power given to him when he became King, he beat the serpent back into a cave and there imprisoned it. The serpent stayed there for too many centuries to count, and was eventually forgotten by most everyone..._  
  
 _Except the Allfather and his wife, Frigga._  
  
 _Whatever reasons they had for choosing to imprison the snake instead of killing it, they did not share with anyone else, and no one asked them either. Their decisions was simply taken as it was and life went on in Asgard as it always had._  
  
 _But there were always rumours, and one scholar once wrote a small tale down about the Allfather and the serpent in a book, which was one day picked up by a young girl..._

* * *

    The fire did not last long enough. As she got into the deepest part of the cave, Sigyn had to put it out before it burned her hand, leaving her in utter darkness. She fought a sense of rising panic, coupled with the foreboding the cave instilled in her.  
     
    She wasn’t certain why, but it frightened her in a way. Perhaps because it was simply too small in places, too tight, too dark. Perhaps because anything could now be sneaking up on her and she wouldn’t be able to hear it until it was too late. Perhaps it was simply something the Allfather placed inside the very rock of the cave, to ward off anyone who might be curious.  
     
    Whatever it is, it leaves Sigyn with a sickness in her stomach that she can not shake. But she forges on, because she has come too far for anything else.  
     
    _One foot in front of the other,_ Sigyn thinks. _One foot in front of the other, one hand on the wall, ignore your heartbeat and listen instead for those who might prey on you and your children..._  
     
    Finally, after what feels like hours of walking, she begins to hear the steady dripping of water. She follows it, ignoring the damp, stagnant smell in the air, and hopes she is getting close.  
     
    The light almost hurts her eyes when she suddenly comes across a large clearing in the cave. The roof rises so high that not even Surtr could reach it. Sunlight filters in from the holes in the top, illuminating everything before her. There’s a small waterfall that joins a pool, which then runs off somewhere down further into the cave.  
     
    And then she sees the serpent. It’s a beautiful creature, scales a bright green with some yellow splattered throughout, and she wonders how anyone could look at this magnificent beast and see anything worth fearing.  
     
    Sigyn puts an arm around her twins, just in case, and then steps forward to greet the beast.  
     
    Before she can say anything, the serpent focuses its yellow eyes on her, tongue flicking out to taste the air. Sigyn stops, keeping her expression carefully blank. She inclines her head respectfully, wondering how to start.  
     
    “And why have you come here, little Asgardian?” the serpent asks, and Sigyn startles to hear it speak.  
     
    “I--I have come to seek your help.”  
     
    The serpent considers her briefly, tasting the air again before saying, “No one has ever sought my help before. They’ve only tried to kill me.”  
     
    “Yes,” Sigyn says, “the Allfather does tend to dislike what he considers monsters.”  
     
    “And his mistake was in believing I cared anything for his kind in the first place,” the serpent says dismissively, and Sigyn bites back a smile. “I was content to leave them alone until they became frightened of me and began sending soldiers to kill me.”  
     
    “I am no such soldier, I can assure you.”  
     
    “I know,” the serpent says. “Unless you intend to use those babes at your breasts as weapons, you are no soldier. What help do you need from one such as I?”  
     
    Sigyn lifts her wrists up to the serpent so that the silver handcuffs shine in the sunlight. “I have been bound,” she says. “The Allfather placed these on me so that I cannot use my magic, and then he banished me so that I would not remain with my husband. He fears my husband, as he fears you, and he fears my children are heirs to the throne of Asgard.”  
     
    “So many things the Allfather fears,” the serpent observes.  
     
    “Burdened is the head which wears the crown,” Sigyn shrugs. “I read once that your venom is so poisonous to could burn through the strongest of metals we have at our disposal.”  
     
    “That is true. And so you wish for me to burn off those bindings?”  
     
    “I do.”  
     
    The serpent considers this idea, staring at her all the while. “It will hurt,” it says finally. “And your hands will be burned in the process. You may even lose the use of one, if it stays under the venom for too long.”  
     
    “I have to return to my husband,” Sigyn says simply. “My children must know him.”  
     
    The beast does not answer right away, slithering along the dead tree it’s perched on. “I require something from you if I do this.”  
     
    Sigyn pauses before carefully saying, “Which would be?”  
     
    “My freedom,” the serpent says. “If I free you, then you must free me in turn. I think that is a fair deal, don’t you?”  
     
    “I...” She shakes her head. “The Allfather himself bound you here. I am a powerful sorceress, it’s true, but even I am not that powerful. I cannot undo the Allfather’s magic.”  
     
    “Silly child,” the serpent says, and Sigyn swears she can hear it laughing in its own way--a hissing, breathy sound. “Everything can be undone if you simply give it enough time. The Allfather is not infallible. His power knows bounds and restrictions, just as everyone’s does. If you will not free me, then I shall not free you either, and we will both have lost.”  
     
    Sigyn considers it, biting her lip. “I will free you,” she says at length, “but I will have to leave here first and return to my husband. I cannot stay here after you’ve destroyed these cuffs and work for you then. I must leave, find my husband, then get away from Asgard safely. He is a better sorcerer than I; he may know of a better way to free you. But I will return, I swear it. I will not leave you here.”  
     
    There’s a long stretch of silence before the serpent says, “Very well. Put your suckling babes down and away from here, and then give me your wrists, child.”  
     
    Sigyn gets her twins situated on a small dip in the floor, in her line of sight, and then approaches the serpent. She hesitates only for a brief second before holding her wrists up to the serpent, watches as it opens it gigantic, wide mouth, and then bites through her tongue to keep from screaming when the first drop of venom hits her skin with a sick sizzling sound.    

* * *

   Sigyn emerges from the cave a day later, stumbling on weak legs, her mind blurry with the pain radiating throughout her entire body. She does not look at her wrists. She cannot without getting sick. The skin has melted away, as have most of the muscles, leaving her bones bare in places.  
     
    She nearly falls before she makes it to the horse, but in the interest of not killing her children, she regains her balance. She falls on her knees near a tree and then crawls over to it, leaning on it, catching her breath, and then sobbing from the agony.  
     
    But her plan has worked. She can feel her magic brimming throughout her entire body, overfilling her, joyous now that it has been freed. Sigyn closes her eyes and then focuses it all on her wrists, writhing as her healing spell begins its long work of recreating bone, muscle, nerves and skin.  
     
    It takes long, longer than she wishes, but finally when night falls she is healed. Sigyn brings her shaking hands up to her twins and laughs, a loud laugh that echoes throughout the forest.  
     
    “I have done it, my boys, my beautiful boys,” she says, breathless. “I have freed myself. And now I go to free your father, and the Allfather himself cannot stop me.”


	4. found in forbidden nights

_Her mother finds the spellbook shortly after Sigyn brings it home. Sigyn comes home from the marketplace again to find her Mother in her bedroom, the book lying accusingly on her small bed._  
  
 _Her heart drops immediately. She knows this is goodbye for the spellbook that has brought her such comfort these past few weeks._  
  
 _“I want it gone,” her Mother declares, refusing to even touch it, as if the spells might hurt her in some way. Sigyn wonders if that’s why her Mother never really touches her anymore, either. “Burn it. Sell it. I care not. Take it out of this house. That is final.”_  
  
 _“Yes, Mother.”_  
  
 _When her Mother leaves, slamming the bedroom door behind her, Sigyn takes a few minutes to weep. Then she wipes her tears and thinks of a plan. She refuses to part with the book. She paid for it with her own money, so it is hers, and as the owner of her own property she will not let go of it._  
  
 _But what to do? Her Mother will tear her room apart if she believes it’s still here. She cannot hide it here, nor anywhere in the house._  
  
 _Then she realizes. It’s a risky plan, and if it doesn’t work, she truly will have to give the book away. But she knows she can make it work; she can feel it in her bones, that certainty, running right along with her magic._  
  
 _Sigyn snatches up the book and heads for Theoric’s house._

* * *

    Even at night, the golden city of Asgard glows. It’s never truly dark there; Gladsheim emits enough light to illuminate the whole city, and there are always enough fires burning to keep the streets lit.  
      
    Yet somehow, they never lose sight of the stars. No matter how brightly Asgard burns, they can always see every single star in the night sky. It brings Sigyn comfort, in some strange way. Asgard cannot swallow everything up and hide it away, though the Allfather may try.  
      
    As she pulls up to the wall protecting the city, she begins to get jittery. She’s so close she can almost reach out and touch Loki. Her fingers twitch, wanting to do just that, to thread themselves into his hair and pull him close. Sigyn closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, calming herself. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she messes up from anxiety and excitement.  
      
    She changes out of her dirtied and torn dress, taking a quick moment to pour water over her arms, legs, and wash her face and hair as best she can. When she’s dry she slips on a nicer dress that she’s saved for this particular moment. There’s nothing to be done about the worn out brown boots she’s worn this entire time; she has no embroidered slippers to wear, so she’ll simply have to hope no one catches a glimpse of them underneath her skirts.   
      
    Then, last but not least, she casts a spell over herself and the twins. They coo and gurgle at the feeling of her familiar magic as their skin turns from blue to pale pink, their eyes turning white and blue.   
      
    It makes her sick to do this to her beloved boys. To do what Odin did to Loki, so many centuries ago. But it is not for very long, and it’ll keep them alive to see their Father.   
      
    At least she can take comfort in the fact that they don’t find her magic strange; she had worried about it at first, how they might react. But when they seemed to be comforted by it she realized that they had grown in her womb, feeling her magic the entire time. It was as natural to them as the air they breathed.  
      
    “I want you to know your Father’s magic, as well,” she says quietly, putting the sling back on. They blink up at her in the dim light, trying to understand who this strange woman with the blonde hair is, why she has their Mother’s voice but not her face. She smiles and runs a hand over their soft hair, then takes the horse’s reins and sets off for the gates into the lower part of the city. Her home.    

* * *

    It had been surprisingly easy, getting past the guards. Sigyn supposes she has the twins to thank for that; a lone woman out on her own likely would have gotten jostled, pinched, and felt up, but a single woman with babes at her breast was to be left alone. They still cast her odd looks, but assumed her only to be a farmer’s wife coming into the city for business, nothing more.  
      
    She’s grateful for that. It was not the first time she had worked her sex to her advantage, and Sigyn doubts it will be the last.  
      
    She has to leave the horse outside, but that’s fine. She no longer needs her. Once she’s in the city, Sigyn immediately sets out for her destination. She remembers each street, each alley perfectly, and she navigates them easily. She deftly avoids her parent’s house and soon winds up at a small, darkened house at the top of a hill.  
      
    _Please let him be here,_ Sigyn thinks. _Please, please let him be here and let him be willing to help me._  
      
    Sigyn casts another look around, then knocks on the door. It takes a few more tries before light appears in the window and she hears heavy footsteps on the wood floor inside. She has only a second to take a deep breath before the door opens and Theoric peers out.  
      
    He stares at her for a long moment, clearly not recognizing her. “Do you need help?” he finally asks, ever polite and chivalrous. Sigyn had always liked that about him, in a way.  
      
    “It’s me,” she says quietly, and Theoric’s eyes widen. “May I come in?”  
      
    “Good Norns,” he says softly, then steps back. “Please, Sig--yes. Come in.”  
      
    “Thank you.” She looks about the street one last time before stepping in, relaxing only when the door closes behind her and the warm light of Theoric’s house washes over her. She sighs, closing her eyes and finally realizing just how exhausted and sore she truly is.   
      
    “Sit down,” Theoric says, motioning to a chair. She does, sinking into it gratefully, her feet almost crying out in relief. “Sigyn, how are you--where were you--what are you doing here?”  
      
    Sigyn rocks in the chair slightly, putting her arms around her boys. “I assume you heard from the other Einherjar about me. And Loki.”  
      
    Theoric flinches back slightly and frowns. “I heard rumours, nothing more. The Allfather forbade anyone from speaking of it.”  
      
    _Of course he did,_ Sigyn thinks tiredly. She doesn’t even have the energy to get irritated about it. “I am married to Loki, yes. And these,” she says, angling her arms slightly so that Theoric can see her two sons, “are our children.”  
      
    There’s a tense silence and Sigyn waits, on edge. Her plan will succeed or fail depending on how Theoric reacts to the children. He stares at them for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark from the candlelight. Then he gently reaches over and sticks a finger out near Vali’s hand.  
      
    Vali squirms, then grabs hold of the finger and babbles something. Theoric’s expression softens and he smiles, and Sigyn knows she is one step closer to Loki.   
      
    “That’s Vali,” she says softly, “and his brother is Narvi.”   
      
    “They’re beautiful,” Theoric says. “They take after you.” She says nothing to that. Theoric glances up at her, then winces again. “Can you not return to your usual looks? It’s strange, hearing your voice coming out of that face, with that hair.”  
      
    Sigyn laughs lightly. “My Mother always did bemoan the fact that I wasn’t born a blonde. Black hair isn’t attractive, apparently,” she says. “But no, I cannot turn back. I’m not safe in this city anymore, Theoric. The Allfather banished me to live in the country. He says my marriage to Loki was not lawful, because he fears that my sons could have a legitimate claim to the throne.”  
      
    “You’ve come back for him,” Theoric says plainly, leaning back into his chair.  
      
    “I have.”  
      
    He glances away, rubbing his mouth and shaking his head. “Was I so terrible an option, Sigyn? Could you not have been content, waking up to me every morning?”  
      
    This was the part of the conversation she’d wished to avoid. Sigyn looks away, then back to him. “It wasn’t that,” she says weakly. “I could have been content with you, in a way. It’s just...” She trails off uncertainly. “I wouldn’t have ever loved you. You know that. You may wish for me to, but you knew in your heart that I could not return your feelings. And you deserve someone who will love you, absolutely and completely, as Loki and I love each other.”  
      
    _And you were far too good a person for me, Theoric,_ she thinks. _I did not deserve you. You did not need me enough. I need to be needed. Loki needs me; without him, I am nothing. Without me, he is nothing. You can stand on your own. You do not need me._  
      
    She does not say that. She knows Theoric would not understand it.   
      
    Theoric is hurt by her words, she can see that, but he accepts them with some reluctance. “What do you need from me?”  
      
    “A place to stay for the night,” Sigyn says. “Food to eat. Safety. I need your friendship again, Theoric, and I have always treasured your friendship more than anything. I need you to stay with my sons and keep watch over them while I go to Gladsheim and see Loki.”  
      
    Theoric hesitates. “Sigyn... what do you intend to do?”  
      
    “I plan to free him, and then we will all disappear,” Sigyn says simply. “We will leave Asgard and go to live somewhere else. Somewhere in peace, where we will not be separated again and under the constant shadow of Odin’s threats against our family.” She swallows hard, tears in her eyes. “That is all I want, Theoric. I want peace. I want my family. I do not want the throne.”  
      
    “You don’t,” Theoric says, “but Loki does.”  
      
    “I can persuade him otherwise.”  
      
    “Can you?” Theoric asks, staring hard at her. “Can you command such a man, Sigyn? He destroyed Jotunheim. He would have done the same to Midgard. He bows to no one and still claims he is a King. Who are you, to think such a man will bow to you and follow your every whim?”  
      
    “I am his Queen,” Sigyn says after a long pause of thinking. “I am the one who was made for him, and he for me. I may not wear a crown, but I am a Queen, and he is my King, and he will kill everyone in the Nine if I so wish it, and he would save everyone in it if I simply asked him to.”   
      
    Theoric suddenly looks frightened, ill at ease, and he flinches away from her when she reaches out and places her hand on his. “I know I can take him away from Asgard, my friend,” Sigyn says. “All I need is your help and your faith, and Asgard will never have to worry about us again.”  
      
    “He holds too much power over you,” Theoric says, a note of horror in his tone.  
      
    “No,” Sigyn says, shaking her head. “No one holds any power over me. Not anymore.”  
      
    “Sigyn, this is madness. How are you going to let him out? How are you going to escape? The Allfather will follow you wherever you go, and you will never know peace again after this.”  
      
    “Oh, my dearest Theoric,” she sighs, “I have never known peace except for when I laid with Loki and felt his heart under my fingertips. I will never know peace again unless he can hold me in his arms, kiss my hair, and fall asleep with me. I will not know peace until he is there to see the first steps of our boys, their first words, and everything else that will come later.  
      
    “Please, Theoric,” she says, getting on her knees before him, gazing up to him. “I am not too proud to beg, and beg I will. Please help me. Help Loki. Help our sons. Help us get away. For your love of me and my happiness, if nothing else.”  
      
    Theoric is quiet for a long moment before he nods. “I will do as you ask, Sigyn,” he says. Then he smiles faintly and shakes his head. “I was wrong to question you. You are the only person Loki will ever listen to, I think, and I should have known. Because you are you, Sigyn, and there are none other like you.”  
      
    “There are,” Sigyn says, standing up. “I simply had the great fortune of being the one to walk into Loki’s cage one day. Thank you, Theoric. I will not forget this, I swear it.”  
      
    “Do not forget me,” Theoric requests gently, putting a hand on her cheek. “That will be thanks enough, that you look on me kindly after this and remember me always.”  
      
    “I shall.”


	5. the beloved of monsters

    _She sees him on her first day at the Healing Houses._  
  
 _After having hidden her spellbook with Theoric, Sigyn spent days wondering where to go from there. Her parents will not allow her to study magic, but Sigyn cannot ignore it either. She cannot ignore the way it shapes how she sees the world, how she interacts with it, how she feels it pulsing with life around her, from the leaves on the trees to the rocks on the ground._  
  
 _She has no money for a tutor, and her parents will not approve of one anyway. What, then, is she to do?_  
  
 _Then she looks to the East and realizes the answer lies right in front of her._  
  
 _It took quite a lot of trickery on her part, and cunning, but Lady Eir finally agrees to take her on as an apprentice. She must learn some way to control her magic; she fears it will drive her mad if she does not. Healing is not quite the sorcery work she was dreaming of, but Sigyn thinks it will be a fine substitute._  
  
 _Her parents rage at her for days. She cares not. She has what she wished for, and nothing else matters._  
  
 _Then she sees him._  
  
 _He is not much older than her, and his clothes immediately mark him as one of the royals. His black hair is pushed back, and everything about him is neat and orderly, his green and gold clothing spotless and straight._  
  
 _Green and gold, Sigyn wonders. She thinks of her spellbook and wonders if, in some way, it was an omen._  
  
 _She stares for a second longer and the boy turns around to face another healer, and she gasps softly at the bright green colour of his eyes. He is beautiful, and he will grow up to be handsome, and something draws her to him. She does not know what it is, all she knows is that she wants to reach out and touch him, to have him see her, know her, and say her name._  
  
 _“Sigyn.”_  
  
 _Sigyn jumps and turns away to face Eir, who is standing at the corner with a stern frown._  
  
 _“Come along. Clear your mind of those daydreams.”_  
  
 _“Y-yes, my Lady. Forgive me.”_  
  
 _Sigyn looks back once to see the boy, but he is gone. She tries to ignore the sudden loneliness she feels at his absence._  
  
 _It is not until later that she learns he was Loki Odinson, the second heir to the throne. Sigyn rolls the name on her tongue, tasting it, and shivers despite the warmth of the day._  
  
 _Loki Odinson. She looks to Gladsheim, and wonders if their paths will ever cross again._  
  
 _She hopes they do._

* * *

      
    The Healing Houses do not feel as welcoming as they had when she was a child.   
      
    Sigyn walks through the halls briskly, avoiding making eye contact with anyone who passes her. Once, the sickly sweet smell of the myriad of herbs gathered in the medicine room comforted her. Now it only makes her gag and wonder how she had ever put up with it.   
      
    There is also, disconcertingly, a slight hint of blood in the air. Sigyn wonders if that is what she smelled like when she first met Loki, and how he did not recoil from her.  
      
    _Because that is Loki,_ she thinks. _Because you are you, and he cannot deny you, just as you could not deny him from the very second you saw him. And because blood does not bother him in the least._   
      
    She absently rubs a hand over her chest, uneasy with the lack of weight on it. She’s carried her boys on her chest for so long, she’d gotten used to it. Now she cannot get comfortable without them right there with her. But she cannot do this with them; this part is solely her own, something she must complete herself.  
      
    She steps into the medicine room and looks around at the healers gathered there. Eir is not in, which is a stroke of luck, so Sigyn heads over to the next healer in command, Bára. She sighs, feigning exasperation.   
      
    “The prisoner needs another pain potion,” she says, lilting her voice a few octaves higher. “He tried to escape. Again.”  
      
    Bára rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “He’s going to drink up all our stores,” she says, going over to the shelves. Her hand wanders along the bottles before picking one up and handing it to Sigyn. “Here. This one will put him to sleep for a good long while.”  
      
    Sigyn nods and thanks Bára, then heads back out, heart thumping wildly that her plan seems to be working. She quickly leaves the Houses before anyone thinks to look at her for too long, to see past her disguise.  
      
    And then she heads for Gladsheim.    

* * *

      
    The palace is quiet. It had been so even when Sigyn was there every day, all the soldiers away at war, the royal family concerned with matters of kingdom and the Nine.   
      
    She is thankful for the quietness and the emptiness of the corridors today. It should make her plan that much easier.   
      
    Sigyn hurries to the dungeons, keeping her head bowed. At the entrance, the guards stop her and one inquires as to her purpose.  
      
    She holds up the bottle. “Medicine for the traitor,” she says. “The Queen requested it to ease his sleep. She says he’s been having nightmares. It will also keep him quiet for some time.”  
      
    The guards glance at each other, then nod. They open the door and allow her through, and it takes everything in her not to yell with triumph.  
      
    _I’m so close,_ Sigyn thinks. _I’m nearly there. Just wait a few more minutes, Loki._  
      
    The other prisoners drift to the golden, energized glass cell walls as she walks past. A few leer at her, shout something she can’t hear but can easily guess what it may be, and she ignores them all. They are not important. They mean nothing to her.  
      
    Only one person does.  
      
    They’ve put Loki in one of the strongest cells, in the lowest level of the dungeons. She expected that. It doesn’t matter, either. She will free him, and there is nothing that can stop her.   
      
    Her hands shake as she finally makes it to the cell, and she stares into the window, her heart jumping into her throat when she sees him. His back is turned to her as he sits in a chair, his head down as if he is reading, and Sigyn’s allowed to drink in the sight of him as much as she pleases.  
      
    _My beautiful husband,_ she thinks. _My dearest, beloved Loki. How I have missed you._  
      
    Sigyn walks up to the steps and the glass wall allows her in. It takes her a second to remember how to walk, to remember how to move her feet so that she can step inside the cage once again and leave herself at Loki’s mercy.  
      
    The glass wall closes behind her and Sigyn feels as if she could weep, she is so happy.  
      
    Loki does not even look up at her. “More medicine, I assume?” he asks blankly. “Put it on the table.”  
      
    “You’re not going to make me force it down your throat?” Sigyn asks teasingly, and Loki pauses. Something in his expression shifts and then is gone, and he still won’t look at her.   
      
    “Leave me be.”  
      
    Sigyn bows her head and goes over to the table, waiting for Loki to look up at her, to see her underneath this illusion and know her. She sets the medicine down by his water pail, then stands there.  
      
    “I think this was more exciting the last time I did this,” Sigyn says lightly.   
      
    Again, another pause, and she can hear a page being turned over in Loki’s book. “I said leave me be.”  
      
    _What have they done to you, my love?_ Sigyn wonders. Then she turns and sheds her spell, her blonde hair fading again to black and her pale skin deepening to olive.   
      
    “Loki,” she says quietly, her voice returning to its normal tones. “Loki, dearest, it’s me.”  
      
    His head snaps up, his green eyes meeting her own brown ones for half a second, and then he is out of his chair and he is on her, kissing her, crushing her, pressing her against the wall. She kisses him back just as fiercely, not minding the pain, relishing how his hands grip her hips so hard they will bruise later. It is a desperate, hungry kiss, nothing at all like the slow ones they shared before, and Sigyn adores it.  
      
    “Sigyn,” Loki says hoarsely, his breath on her face. “It cannot be you.”  
      
    “It is,” she replies softly, running her hands up his front to his shoulders. “It is me, husband.”  
      
    “They told me you were dead,” Loki says shakily. His eyes are roaming, just as they did when she first met him in the first prison cell, and it breaks her heart to see how far he’s regressed. “They said you were dead, you died when the child came. They said the child was born dead as well. They said--”  
      
    “Shhh,” Sigyn says, rage burning through her at the Allfather’s lies. “I am not dead. Our children are not dead. We are all alive. I am here, blood flows through my veins still, my heart beats steadily, and I am not dead.”  
      
    Loki’s eyes finally focus on her face, and then he gives a dry, broken sob and nearly collapses against her. “Sigyn,” he whispers into her hair. “Sigyn, Sigyn, Sigyn, my Sigyn.”  
      
    She allows this to continue for a few minutes, holding him, stroking his hair, before pulling away. “We must go. We haven’t much time.”  
      
    Loki nods, managing to pull himself together. “How do we get out?”  
      
    Sigyn smiles slightly, taking his hand and pulling him over to the wall. “I may have learned a thing or two while I was banished.” Calling on her magic, she puts a finger to the glass and ignores the pain that radiates up her arm from the contact, drawing runes on it.  
      
    The sound of shattering glass follows a few moments later. When the guards come running in, there is only an empty cell to greet them.  
    

* * *

      
    Loki stares at his children with blatant awe and love. Sigyn watches, smiling, resting her head on his shoulder as the boys wave their arms up towards Loki, somehow instinctively recognizing him as their Father.  
      
    “What did you name them?” Loki asks quietly, never taking his gaze from them.  
      
    “Narvi,” Sigyn says, brushing a finger against the cheek of her child, “and Vali.”  
      
    “Vali and Narvi Lokason,” Loki whispers, and Sigyn closes her eyes at how perfect it sounds. “You will be Kings one day, my sons.”  
      
    Admittedly, it ruins the moment somewhat for her. Sigyn sighs, shaking her head. “Oh, Loki. Let us put aside the thoughts of crowns and who will sit on which throne. At least for tonight. Tonight,” she says, whispering it in his ear, making him shiver. “Tonight I want you all to myself.”  
      
    Loki manages to look away from his sons to her, and Sigyn is heartened by the awareness she sees slowly coming back into his expression. He smiles slowly, his eyes lighting up with hunger and desire, and then he sets their children down into the crib. They coo and gurgle, and she has to get them to sleep before she can lead Loki by the hand to the bed that sits in the corner of the small room.   
      
    She’d almost forgotten, in her time spent in banishment in that tiny cottage, how his hands felt as they pressed against her skin, exploring her body, coaxing little moans and quiet sighs from her. How he seemed to know just exactly what to do with his tongue and fingers to make her back arch against the mattress as hot, burning pleasure burst through her. How he felt inside of her, how it made him groan and pant and suck on the skin of her neck in his ecstacy. How he would hold her afterwards, eyes closed and a content expression on his face, his fingers threading through her long hair. How he’d murmur softly against her hair, her skin, before pulling her into lazy, loving kisses.  
      
    She’d almost forgotten. Loki had no issue giving her a very thorough reminder that night.   
      
    It isn’t until much later, when she’s watching wax slowly slide down a candle, that Loki kisses her shoulder and asks, “What will we do after this?”  
      
    Sigyn pauses. She’d prepared for that question, so her hesitation is not a result of having no idea what to do, but rather from the fact that she knows he won’t like the answer. She'd hoped to put this off until the morning, but there is nothing to be done for it. Loki's mind will not calm until he knows.  
      
    She rolls over onto her side to face him. His arm around her waist tightens slightly, pulling her as close to him as she can get. “There is somewhere we could go. Jotunheim.”  
      
    Loki stills. Then he pulls away to look down at her. His voice is flat when he answers with a simple, blunt, “No.”  
      
    “Loki, listen to me,” Sigyn says. “It is our only choice. There is nowhere we can hide from Odin and his forces, not in these Realms.”  
      
    “Jotunheim doesn’t exist--I destroyed it--”  
      
    She shakes her head. “You didn’t. The Realm sustained great damage, yes, it’s true, and many dead. But it still exists. And with Laufey dead, you are its King.”  
      
    Loki jerks away from her as if he’d been slapped. “No, Sigyn.”  
      
    She waits a second, and then her mouth presses into a thin line and she sits up. “Loki, you listen to me, and you listen to me well. We have no choice. If you truly do not wish for Odin to inflict any further harm on you or us, then we must do this. We must go to Jotunheim, and you must take up the crown and declare the boys your heirs. Then anything Odin does to you afterwards would be risking another war between the Realms, and any hope he has of further peace between Jotunheim and Asgard.”  
      
    His expression breaks her heart. It’s a confusion of anger, despair, hopelessness, and utter fear. “Sigyn, I can’t. Do not ask this of me. I am not a monster, I’m not--”  
      
    She leans down, putting her hand on his cheek, and gives him a kiss. “You’re not a monster,” she says softly, her breath warm against his cool lips. “You are my husband. You are the father of my children, our beautiful sons. You will hopefully be the father of many more of our children. You are a King. You are a glorious man, Loki, and you are not, and never have been, a monster.”  
      
    Loki stares at her and for a second she isn’t certain her words have reached him. Then he slowly relaxes against her, his eyes fluttering closed. “My beautiful, brilliant Sigyn,” he sighs. “How terrible and fearful a Queen you will make.”  
      
    She takes that for what it is; his agreement to her plan. Sigyn nuzzles his nose, giving him small kisses. “There will be troubles,” she whispers. “They will not accept an Aesir Queen.”  
      
    “We will make them accept you,” Loki whispers back, fingers trailing up her spine, making her skin break out into gooseflesh. “I am their King, and they will not defy me.”  
      
    She can feel him getting hard again, so she puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him down on to the bed. He complies, staring up at her lustfully, his hands falling to her hips as she straddles him. “You will not be a cruel King, husband,” she says sternly, gently rolling her hips, rubbing his erection against her. He hisses and it takes everything in her not to give in. “We must earn their loyalty through kindness and love, not through fear and hostility.”  
      
    “D-do they know any other way to be?” Loki manages, and Sigyn feels a burst of pride that she can make him stutter like that. Her, and no one else.  
      
    “They will,” Sigyn says. “If they do not know of it now, they will learn. You will obey me, Loki,” she says, suddenly pulling on his hair on some primal urge. “I am your Queen.”  
      
    “My Queen,” Loki groans, closing his eyes and baring his throat to her. It occurs to her then that he will only ever do this for her, be this vulnerable for her. It takes her breath away, how intimate and trusting that simple movement was.  
      
    “My King,” she whispers against his neck as she lets the length of him enter her. “My husband.”  
      
    The rest of their worries and the outside world faded away, if only for a while, as they made up for their lost time. Before the dawn broke the next day, they were gone from the small hunting cottage.  
      
    It would be quite a while before anyone heard from them again.


	6. epilogue

    In a cave, a serpent waits.  
      
    He waits for the tall, kind hearted Queen to return. It will take a while; he knows this. There are many things he knows.  
      
    He knows, for instance, that he and the Queen will not survive their next encounter. He knows that her children, the little Princes, are doomed. He knows that her husband, the coldblooded King, is the one with the power and will to destroy them all.  
      
    He has known this for so long that he’s not quite certain where he first learned of it. He is an old creature, older than most, and some things were lost to time even for him.  
      
    He does know, however, that one day, centuries from now, blood will stain the Queen’s skirts and once again she will feel the burn of his venom sliding down her skin. He knows that her husband will scream and writhe against his chains as she turns away to empty the small thing that protects him. He knows that even as she does this, she will be working on the spell that binds them to the cave. The spell that, once she breaks it, will kill her and the serpent.  
      
    For who is she, if not the Incantation Fetter, the One Who Unbinds All Fetters, the Beloved of Monsters? Who is she, if not the one that Odin Allfather fears, for her ability to love and love constantly, to change the way people think, to change their hearts? Who is she, if not the one who could turn people against the Allfather and his family, just by inspiring loyalty and love in everyone she graces a warm smile to?  
      
    He wishes it did not have to be this way. But the Norns will thread their paths easily, twining their fates easily between their fingers.  
      
    The serpent stops to consider that. Perhaps, though, the Queen has the power to unbind even those shackles of destiny. It will not change the ending of this particular Queen and her family--that was a tale put in place long ago.  
      
    But death is very rarely permanent for creatures such as themselves.   
      
    The serpent considers this, then nods to himself, satisfied. The Queen and her family will continue on, in some form or another, he hopes.   
      
    The Incantation Fetter cannot be bound, save for the one person who did bind her: Her husband, and only because she allowed him to.  
      
    For now, the serpent waits for her, and for the end of all things that would one day give way to rebirth.


End file.
